Stories

Elizabeth had always loved it when Jack told her stories, ever since that night they had spent together, stranded on that tiny island. No matter how many times she requested it of him, Jack never seemed to run out—elaborate tales of his adventures: epic sea battles, travels to the far ends of each side of the world, how he'd been made king of several rich and distant provinces. Elizabeth had learned quickly not to ask whether any of them were truthful; she knew now that it didn't matter if the events had ever taken place, but only that in some way or another, to Jack they were true.

After some months of being accustomed to hearing these stories, Elizabeth was shocked to hear, for the first time, a refusal:

“No.”

“No?”

“No. You're going to tell me a story this time.”

They were lounging together inside the captain's quarters of the Pearl, and Jack eyed Elizabeth with an even patience as her mind scrambled for something to say.

How could she be expected to tell him a story? Any portions of her life worthy of retelling Jack had already witnessed himself, and she was less than adept at improvising such things.

“Alright,” she said after a time. She had finally, she thought, decided upon something she could recount to Jack which would be both new and interesting to him.

“Wonderful. Go ahead then, Captain Swann.” His smile was infectious, bolstering her confidence to begin.

“Once upon a time,” she began, “There lived a respectable young governor's daughter—“

“Was she really that respectable?”

“Yes, she was!” Elizabeth's face bore an exaggerated look of mock-indignation for a few seconds before she continued. “So, one day this respectable young woman found herself in the highly improbable position of being rescued by an infamous pirate—“

“Did said infamous pirate happen to have a name?”

Elizabeth's lips curved to form a mischievous smile. “He may have. Something to do with a bird, if I recall...” She laughed as Jack shoved at her leg playfully with his own. “Ah, yes, it was the infamous and incredibly handsome Captain Jack Sparrow, who braved the depths to pull her from the ocean, and so... wisely... removed the restrictive garments on her body so that she might breathe freely.”

“I like this Captain Sparrow,” concluded Jack, looking smug.

“Oh, but as it turned out, he was quick to use her for his own purposes—he kept her as a shield to prevent naval officers from firing at him while he tried to escape, just moments later.”

“Nothing wrong with trying to save yourself, I always say.”

“Well she certainly did not appreciate it,” Elizabeth teased.

“And...”

“And?”

“Well, the story doesn't end there, does it, love?”

“No,” she shook her head. “It had just begun. She paused.

“That night,” Elizabeth began again, “She thought, for a long time, on what had happened. You see, she had always had in interest in pirates, since she was a young girl. She'd dreamt of meeting one... of becoming one, even. And now that she'd met this Captain Sparrow, unconventional as the meeting was, she found it near impossible to get the meeting out of her head.”

“I see,” said Jack, pulling Elizabeth to him across the bed, his fingers absently slipping through her loose hair.

Elizabeth took a steadying breath before continuing. “Well she—she'd been infuriated at first—abut him using her like that... But the more she thought about it, she came to realize she'd never been in any danger, and that—“

“That what, love?”

“...That the heat... it wasn't all from being angry.”

“Ah,” mused Jack. “That is interesting.” His fingers were now playing idly along the nape of her neck, and she smiled as she spoke again:

“She began to recall the way it had felt—being pressed so close to him, with him grinning down at her, all wicked and knowing—and that heat it... came back.”

Jack's fingers were tracing along the seams at the top of her tunic, and Elizabeth shifted her hips just slightly, aware, even in that live moment, of the heat. “And then?”

“And then she couldn't stop herself from thinking... things. Like that he'd undressed her. She couldn't help but wonder what it might be like to be undressed by him, in more... private... circumstances.”

“...Like a ship's cabin, perhaps?” Jack slid his hands down her sides to lift the tunic from her body, then brought her close to him again.

“For example,” she breathed, gasping as the cool air rushed up to meet her skin, her nipples growing taut against the linen of Jack's shirt.

“What else did she contemplate that night?”

“Everything,” Elizabeth answered quietly. “She wondered about that sly, grinning mouth—what it would feel like on hers, how his kiss would taste—if they were to kiss. About his hands, how rough they were—how they might feel against bare flesh, if her flesh were bared to him. Of—of his skin, what it would feel like against hers, if they were to—“

“It sounds like she gave this an awful lot of thought,” Jack reflected.

Elizabeth nodded, gently twining the hair on Jack's chin around her finger. “A bit, yes.”

“But was it all thought?”

Elizabeth swallowed hard before meeting Jack's eye. “No. The more she thought... the heat, it was building. And she... she followed it.”

“And did it lead anywhere of interest?” he asked, fingers running along her back, snaking around to her side, her waist, her hip.

Elizabeth breathed deeply into Jack's touch, allowing her hips to close what gap remained between them. “It led her here,” she whispered, finally, grasping Jack's wrist and placing his hand between their bodies, to the heat growing between her legs. She stared at him, eyes blazing.

“Elizabeth,” he murmured, his voice low and quiet.

“She touched herself there, Jack. She thought of him and... she touched herself.”

He moved to kiss her then, both sets of arms working to pull the other still closer, and legs intertwining as he groaned quietly against her lips.

“I think your story may benefit from an illustration of sorts,” said Jack after pulling away, finally.

Elizabeth gazed at him quizzically.

“I suspect there is a lot to this story that cannot merely be told, love. Why tell,” he said, holding her gaze as he slid her breeches from her waist, over her hips and then her legs, “when you can show?”

“Jack...” it had been so long; how would she—?

“I can assist you if you'd like.” Jack interrupted her thoughts with a hand lightly kneading at her breast. Elizabeth sighed, closing her eyes at the touch.

“Yes,” she replied softly, shifting her body next to his so that she could accomplish this new task.

Gasping as one callused thumb brushed over her nipple, Elizabeth allowed her fingers to sweep over the heat gathering between her thighs before settling there, fumbling slightly as they sought out that part of her, now throbbing with the heat as Jack's fingers played out intricate patterns above. She whimpered slightly as she found it at last, her fingers moving in slow, tiny circles around it. “Like this,” she whispered.

“And what exactly was it she was thinking of?” he asked, his touches never ceasing.

“His—his mouth on her body—her neck, her breasts—“ she gasped again as this thought, exactly, was granted, and her nipple was enveloped just so, lips and tongue moving against it and sending jolts of sensation down to where her fingers worked—“Him touching her the way that she was touching herself...” She stopped to catch her breath, arching into Jack's movements as well as her own.

“She imagined... her—her arms around his neck while...” she moaned softly, wholly overwhelmed—“while he moved inside of her.”

Jack groaned in response against her tender flesh, the vibrations sending even more waves of pleasure down to her core. He replaced his mouth again with his thumb, and moved to speak low into her ear. “Go on, love.”

Elizabeth was trembling now, from her and Jack's combined efforts. “She—she thought about his eyes, his mouth, his hands... the way his body had felt against hers... his scent, his voice, and she—she felt like she was sitting on the edge of something so huge, like she was about to topple over it—“

“And did she?” he asked, supporting her shaking form and feeding her pleasure with his fingertips.

Elizabeth's own fingers were working frantically then, her breaths coming in gasps. “Yes!” she replied, turning her head and sobbing her release into his chest. “Yes.”

“Captain Swann,” Jack addressed her formally, even as she was limp against him, catching her breath, “I do believe you are an excellent storyteller.”